


Blood Sugar Sex Magik

by GoodGollyMissYollie (Yollie183)



Series: Ride The Lightning [5]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Content, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7888132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yollie183/pseuds/GoodGollyMissYollie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers works for a discreet private security company and gets assigned to James Barnes, a musician who takes the idea of 'sex, drugs & rock 'n roll' just a little too seriously.</p><p>*** THIS IS A COMPANION WORK TO <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6756670/chapters/15441367">Goddamn Electric</a> ***</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Sugar Sex Magik

**Author's Note:**

> THIS TAKES PLACE BEFORE GODDAMN ELECTRIC! It takes place during the band's first really big gig as an unsigned band, years before Bucky met Steve. 
> 
> So, I asked the wonderful people who are reading my fic [Goddamn Electric](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6756670/chapters/15441367) if they wanted scenes from Bucky's POV, and this is that!  
> Please go read that if you haven't yet, but this should still make total sense without that, so you don't need to. 
> 
> Title is from the album of the same name by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
> 
> I know the relationship tag says Steve/Bucky, even though Steve doesn't appear in this chapter, but I did it because this is not a stand alone fic, but part of a greater whole.

_Alcoholic kind of mood_

_lose my clothes, lose my lube_

_cruising for a piece of fun_

_looking out for number one_

_different partner every night_

_so narcotic outta sight_

_what a gas, what a beautiful ass._

_And it all breaks down at the role reversal,_

_got the muse in my head she's universal,_

_spinnin' me round she's coming over me._

_And it all breaks down at the first rehearsal,_

_got the muse in my head she's universal,_

_spinnin' me round she's coming over me._

_Kind of buzz that lasts for days_

_had some help from insect ways_

_comes across all shy and coy_

_just another Nancy Boy._

_Woman man or modern monkey_

_just another happy junkie_

_fifty pounds, press my button_

_going down._

_Does his makeup in his room_

_douse himself with cheap perfume_

_eyeholes in a paper bag_

_greatest lay I ever had_

_kind of guy who mates for life_

_gotta help him find a wife_

_we're a couple, when our bodies double._

_\- Nancy Boy, Placebo_

 

~

 

The green room was dirty, with stains on the walls and a distinct aroma of urine coming from the ratty couch. To Bucky, it didn’t feel all that unfamiliar. It reminded him of the first place he’d lived in during his time in Moscow, and he bit the inside of his cheek against the onslaught of memory, fidgeting with the guitar pick in his left hand. His skin itched a little where the healing tattoo had scabbed over, and it took most of his self-control not to scratch at the ink. He’d finally, _finally_ , saved up for the full sleeve, and had done it in two marathon sittings, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up, not when it was healing so well.

“James!”

Bucky turned to Brock, who was frowning and tugging at the hem of his black shirt.

“Yeah?” Bucky said, shoving the pick into his pocket.

“Aren’t you gonna change? We’re on in ten minutes.”

Bucky mentally cursed himself. He’d been staring into space for longer than he realised. It happened sometimes, that he’d lose minutes of time, caught up in his thoughts. It had started in Moscow, but it only rarely happened these days, and Bucky silently berated himself. It wasn’t fair to the band to fuck up this way.

He tugged off his shirt and jeans, aware of Brock’s eyes on his body. Bucky knew Brock wanted him, even if the other man adamantly insisted he was straight. Years of societal and internalised homophobia had left Brock unable to admit he was – at the very least – bisexual, and Bucky knew questioning his sexuality would only lead to violence. He’d known guys like Brock in the past, and it made him a little sad that someone could be so afraid of themselves. He dressed quickly in his only pair of leather pants and a white wife beater. Wade was sitting at the vanity, the lights around the mirror making tiny shadows on the scars across the side of the other man’s face. Bucky leaned over him to smudge some black eyeliner around his eyes and Wade wolf whistled, earning a light slap to the back of his head.

The door opened, revealing a grumpy looking club employee. “Five minutes, guys,” he said, somewhere between bored and pissed off.

This was Siberia’s first really big gig, at a large club in the rougher part of Hell’s Kitchen, and if luck was on their side, there would be someone from a record label in the audience, interested in signing them.

Wade ruffled Bucky’s hair. “Come on, big guy, this is it.”

They trooped onto the stage in single file, first Wade, then Jack, Scott and Brock, with Bucky bringing up the rear. There were cheers from the audience. Real cheers, and shouts of ‘Siberia!’ and ‘James!’ and ‘Brock!”. It felt a little unreal, better than any high Bucky had ever had, and he was monumentally grateful that he was sober for this.

“Hello, Hell’s Kitchen,” Bucky muttered into his microphone, slinging his guitar around his shoulder. “How you doin’ tonight?”

More cheers, and Bucky smiled, looking around the dimly lit room. His eyes fell on a man by the bar, looking stunningly out of place in a well-cut three-piece suit and tie. He was older than most of the crowd, probably late forties, his reddish blonde hair combed in a neat side parting. Bucky’s heart stuttered. This had to be the record exec, didn’t it? As they started the set, Bucky did his very best to seduce every member of the audience from the stage, but especially the man in the suit, because, if there was one thing Bucky knew about the world, it was that sex sells.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky said into the mic over an hour later, his voice husky. “Let’s finish this up with a cover of a song I know you know.”

The music started and there were more cheers from the audience. Bucky set down his guitar, and stepped back to the mic stand, gripping it, hard. He moved to the music, circling his hips _just so._ It felt wrong, somewhere in his chest, but this was it. _Sex sells._

_“You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you_

_You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you_

_Help me. I broke apart my insides, help me I’ve got no soul to sell_

_Help me the only thing that works for me, help me get away from myself_

_I want to fuck you like an animal_

_I want to feel you from the inside_

_I want to fuck you like an animal_

_My whole existence is flawed_

_You get me closer to god_

_You can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings_

_You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything_

_Help me tear down my reason, help me, it’s your sex I can smell_

_Help me, you make me perfect, help me become somebody else_

_I want to fuck you like an animal…”_

He sang the words like he meant them, his voice breathy and needy in all the right places, like he was begging for it. It felt wrong, dirty, somehow, but he knew it had just the right effect on the man in the suit. Sex sells, he reminded himself as the band ended their set and trooped off stage.

“Wow, Bucky,” Wade said in his ear as the band stumbled back into the green room, “I don’t think there’s a single dry pair of underwear in this place.”

“Fuck you, Wade,” Bucky said, flipping him off.

“God, I’d love to,” Wade put the back of his hand to his forehead, pretending to swoon.

Bucky groaned, tugged off his wife beater, and caught Brock’s eye. The other man glowered at him, and turned away, but Bucky had already seen the hard-on outlined by his tight jeans.

“Guys.” The grumpy club employee stuck his head around the door. “There’s a man at the bar asking to speak to your lead singer, says he’s from a label.”

There was a moment of pregnant silence, where all eyes fell on Bucky and Bucky looked helplessly at the band. Then Wade clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a little shove toward the door.

“Make us proud, Bucky Bear,” he said, with another tiny shove.

Bucky followed the club employee to the bar, where he pointed out the man in the suit, before trudging away to do club employee things.

Bucky took a moment to push himself into flirty rock star mode, then approached the man, only realising he was shirtless as the leaned back against the sticky bar next to him.

“You asked for me?” Bucky said, smoothly, staring at the man from beneath his lashes, the way he’d learned in Moscow.

“I did, yes,” the man said, holding out his hand for Bucky to shake. “My name is Alexander Pierce; I work for Hydra Records.”

Bucky shook the man’s hand. He’d heard of Hydra. They were new, growing steadily, mainly due to the slew of indie rock bands they’d signed fresh off Myspace. “James Barnes, sir.” The man, Pierce, seemed to like being called ‘sir’, Bucky noted, as he straightened his tie.

“Well, James – may I call you James?”

Bucky nodded.

“James, I like what I hear from your band. Hydra have been looking toward heavier music, and you could become our greatest asset.”

Bucky couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“You want to sign us?”

“Of course we know that musicians can be… temperamental. Being signed means this is a two-way street. We give you what we can in terms of money and creative freedom, but in return we expect your cooperation in all matters.”

Bucky realised two things in one blinding moment. One: This man would only sign them if he could fuck Bucky. Two: Pierce didn’t realise Bucky already knew the rules of this game, and could play it much better.

“Cooperation? Sir?” Bucky asked, just the right combination of confused and eager.

“In all matters,” Pierce intoned, his eyes dropping away from Bucky’s face in a quick, cold assessment of his body, and Bucky was glad he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He let Pierce look, and even managed to conjure up a blush and embarrassed expression as the man’s eyes returned to his face.

“I don’t… don’t know if…” Bucky stuttered out, playing flustered and unsure.

“You want to be successful, don’t you?” Pierce cut in, his expression turning fatherly. “You want to be heard? Have your music out there, remembered for decades after you’re gone?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, quietly passionate, reaching his hand out in an abortive gesture that stopped just short of touching Pierce’s suit lapel. “I want to be heard.” It wasn’t even a lie.

“Then you’re willing to cooperate?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky said. _Good boy, Jimmy._

Bucky gasped in shock at the familiar voice in his head, but Pierce was typing something on his phone and missed the moment. Bucky hadn’t heard that voice in over a decade, and it felt like a cold, lead weight in his chest. He wanted to run, to bolt from the club, into the cold night air, not stopping until the day he died.

“Let’s find somewhere a little quieter to discuss this further,” Pierce’s voice said in his ear.

“Yes, sir,” Bucky said, biting his bottom lip for effect.

Pierce put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder in a fatherly gesture.

_There you go, Jimmy. Good boy._

 

Pierce took him to his apartment, in a nice building in Manhattan. Once inside, he left Bucky in the living room, looking at the stark, minimalist design, while he went to fix them drinks. Bucky wished he had some heroin to numb him to what was coming. He’d been struggling to stay clean since starting the band, but he knew it would be a battle lost if this thing with Pierce becomes a regular occurrence.

Pierce returned, holding two glasses of liquor. Bucky took a sip of his – whiskey and citrus – and cursed the fact that it wouldn’t be enough to even get him tipsy. He was still shirtless, and Pierce touched his left bicep, where the tattoo of interlocking metal plates was almost fully healed.

“I’ve never understood why people get tattoos. You have such lovely skin.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bucky cast his eyes down.

“Show me more?” Pierce whispered, close to his ear, and Bucky swallowed, looking up, etching uncertainty onto his features.

“M-more, sir?”

“Cooperation, Jamie,” Pierce gently reminded him, taking the empty glass from him and setting it down on an end table before turning again to Bucky. “You do want to cooperate, don’t you?”

_Yes, Jimmy, be a good boy now._

“Yeah- yes, s-sir,” Bucky stuttered, his hands going to the button of his leather pants. He popped it awkwardly, playing up the hesitation. Pierce’s eyes followed the movement, and he licked his lips. Bucky tugged down the zipper, then turned away from Pierce’s gaze to shimmy out of the leather, kicking off his shoes. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and the move left him naked, his back and ass on display for Pierce.

“Such lovely skin, Jamie.” Bucky jumped a little when Pierce spoke from closer than he thought. “Turn around.”

Bucky did as Pierce commanded, his hands cupped in front of his crotch.

“Tsk, how about you put your hands behind your back?”

Bucky looked at Pierce, wide eyed and suddenly shy. “S-sir?”

“Now, Jamie,” Pierce said with quiet command. “Don’t want to be uncooperative, do you?”

Bucky shook his head and slowly clasped his hands behind his back. He kept his gaze on the floor as Pierce stepped closer to run a hand down his abdomen.

“You don’t seem very… excited at getting a record deal,” Pierce said, and Bucky could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’m just… this is just a little…” Bucky trailed off, swallowing as Pierce’s hand was removed from his skin.

“Touch yourself.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped up to meet Pierce’s. He hated doing _that_. It always made him feel a little sick. “I don’t want to,” he told Pierce.

“You’re being very uncooperative, Jamie,” Pierce said, clearly a threat.

Bucky shook his head, quickly. “I want _you_ to touch me, sir. Please?”

Pierce gave a paternal smile and stepped forward. “Do you now?”

“Yes, please, sir,” he said, breathy, forcing his body to respond the way it had learned to.

Pierce made no ceremony of it, gripping his flaccid dick in one hand, bringing the other to Bucky’s face. Bucky bit his lip, and mercifully felt himself harden.

“Good boy, Jamie.”

_Good boy, Jimmy._

Bucky shuddered, but Pierce seemed to take it as a sign of enjoyment, and stroked his hand once over Bucky’s hardening length.

“On your knees,” Pierce commanded, and Bucky dropped down immediately, his hands still behind his back. Pierce started taking off his own clothes, piece by piece, laying them carefully on the couch. He was in remarkably good shape for a man of his age, lean muscle under pale skin. Naked, Pierce came to stand before Bucky again, his dick, hard and red, inches from Bucky’s face. Bucky didn’t wait to be told, leaned forward and took it between his lips. He tasted a little bitter, but Bucky had had far worse, and swallowed him down, ignoring his gag-reflex. He used his lips and tongue and throat and just the barest hint of teeth to the best of his considerable abilities and let Pierce tug on his hair, listening to him moan and pant.

“God, Jamie, you’re good at that,” he gasped as he pulled Bucky away from him by the hair.

“Thank you, sir,” Bucky said, his voice ragged.  _Practice does make perfect, doesn't it, Jimmy?_

Pierce kept a hand in Bucky’s hair, tugging him to his feet and leading him to stand next to the couch.

“Stay,” Pierce directed, then disappeared down the hallway. He came back moments later with lube and a condom. He motioned for Bucky to bend over the arm of the couch, before handing him the bottle of lube.

“You know what to do.”

Bucky squirted lube onto his fingers and quickly prepped himself, ignoring the way his skin prickled where Pierce was looking at him.

When he was finished, Pierce thrust into him unceremoniously. It was uncomfortable, with Pierce tugging roughly at his hair and slapping his ass by turns, and Bucky was exceedingly grateful when Pierce all but kicked him out of his apartment when it was over, hurriedly taking his number and handing him a Hydra Records business card before closing the door in his face. 

 

Three days later, Siberia signed a deal with Hydra Records, and Pierce insisted on inviting Bucky back to his place after the celebration party, informing him that they were also celebrating his promotion to Siberia’s manager. Sex sells, indeed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The song Bucky sings is Closer by Nine Inch Nails. Believe it or not, the song isn't actually about sex. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always much appreciated :)


End file.
